


Liquid courage

by jonathanegbert



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Slight Peer Pressure, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonathanegbert/pseuds/jonathanegbert
Summary: The alcohol tastes bitter on your tongue, and it makes you want to retch. You squeeze your eyes as you force yourself to swallow, the liquid leaving a scorching trail down your throat.Dave takes the bottle from you to take another sip while you're left to cough and scrunch your face at the sharp aftertaste left on your tongue. "Agh! That's terrible! Why would anybody want to drink that?" You reason.The blond swallows before answering, "To get drunk? Duh.""You're already drunk. Haven't you had enough?""Maybe. But you're not, yet, and we gotta fix that."
Relationships: John Egbert/Dave Strider
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Liquid courage

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Inebriation is bliss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636776) by [jonathanegbert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonathanegbert/pseuds/jonathanegbert). 



> Also updated this fic for an application to a zine!

It’s ten o’clock p.m., it’s Friday, and you could be out partying or doing something productive like getting started on homework, but nope, you’ve been fucking around on your computer for the past seven hours since you got home from school. The usual.

Really you’ve just been talking to Jade and Rose. Dave was apparently nowhere to be seen since you parted ways with him from school. All you've heard from him was unintelligible messages on Pesterchum, which you figure might've just been keyboard smashing instead of an active attempt at conversation, so you left it alone.

You sigh and rub your eyes behind your glasses, the repercussions of sleep deprivation catching up to you early into the night. You feel like a grandpa, practically dead in bed every night at half past ten, even if it’s later than the time your own dad usually retires to bed. But hey, it's not your fault! School and deadlines and not planning well in advance to meet those deadlines end up keeping you up on nights before big projects more than you would like! Then comes the ungodly beep of your alarm clock at six thirty in the morning and it is not the lifestyle you wish you had.

You decide that maybe you should get into bed and catch up on the book you’re reading for class or something. At least then you’ll be doing something useful. You head for the bathroom to brush your teeth before leisurely ambling back into your room. The pullover you slip on is huge on you, its fabric keeping you warm on a cold February night. Taking a look around the room, you haphazardly decide you should clean up. Your dad usually got mad when you left your room untidy, always telling you that if you didn’t learn to clean up after yourself, you’d never be able to live alone adequately when you go away for college someday.

As you bend down and groan at the action, because you are an old man as you’ve established, a familiar beep sounds from your computer and repeats a few more times. You furrow your brows - oh right! You'd forgotten to say bye to your friends. Once your clothes are all in the laundry hamper and miscellaneous objects are no longer littering the floor, you plop down into your desk chair and click the spacebar a few times to get your old monitor going. You listen to the silence of your house and the crickets outside your window as you wait, the sound somewhat reminding you of Neon Genesis Evangelion. You shake your head. That was such a traumatizing anime. Fuck Dave for showing it to you.

You’re expecting to see lavender or green on your screen, but instead there’s red. You light up a bit at seeing him pester you and waste no time in answering him.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 22:13 --

TG: ebegrt  
TG: aer y ou tere  
TG: im a bsy mna hree cmon dont kep m ew aiting  
TG: sresly are yoi u there

Your eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

EB: uh, dave?  
EB: you ok there?  
TG: bout tome egbret  
TG: i wanated tp ajs yo u sormthting  
TG: fcuk wiw trh kyeoborda is liek spinig  
EB: i can’t even understand what you’re trying to say!  
TG: hye csn i ocme over  
EB: what? no! dude, it’s like ten, go to sleep you big baby!  
EB: wait, dave...  
EB: are you drunk again?  
TG: noe wtf  
TG: im nto gay ebgert  
TG: i maent frunk  
EB: hahaha, oh man, how much did you drink, dude?  
EB: i can’t wait to show this convo to you tomorrow when you’ve got a massive hangover.  
TG: shit up jhin  
TG: fcuk *shit  
TG: *SHIT  
TG: *SHUT  
TG: i suoend like roxu  
EB: i’m saving this convo. this is gold.  
TG: hye praper youroself im ciming over ok were maeking thos happn

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] is now offline! --

EB: wait, what?  
EB: dave?  
EB: are you serious?  
EB: dave???

You sigh. He'd probably pass out before stepping out of his apartment. Dave had started doing this a lot in the past few months, getting plastered out of his mind, and occasionally showing up to your house. 

You open up your chats with Rose and Jade and exchange your good nights. When you slide under your bedsheets, you decide that winter is, by far, your favorite thing in the world. Not yet feeling too sleepy, you pick up your book from your bedside table and make an avid attempt to engross yourself in Lord of the Flies. You stare hard at the words, reading and rereading but unable to get into Jack's anger and bloodlust, your thoughts instead drifting to other matters.

Had Dave spent the whole afternoon drinking? Is that why he was M.I.A? You snicker at the thought. What a dumbass. The poor kid will get sick. You hope he doesn’t come over and puke here. You would help him, though. Hold his hair back for him, or whatever a guy can do for his friend at a time like that. Fuck, his hair was soft. You're aware of the hair routine all Striders tend to. It's a Strider Standard or something, as Dave had told you before during the few opportunities you've had to play with his golden locks. You’d kill him if he got sick here, though.

Giving up on your book, you set it down on your nightstand along with your glasses and switch off the lights. Your attention turns to your soft Ghostbusters sheets you’ve had since you were just a kid. In fact, you’ve had this entire bed since you were a kid, the mattress included. You love how personalized it’s become even if it's a little small, how your mattress has created a natural dip from your usual sleeping position – on your left facing the wall – and how familiar and comforting it all feels. The silence of your home and the crickets now seem to lull you, and all you can do is appreciate the way your bed seems to encase your body with warmth as you begin to slip into sleep. Your half-conscious thoughts stray to your best friend once again, leaving you immersed in the feeling of Dave's almost silken-like hair slipping through your fingers.

A clack swiftly snaps you out of your sleepy stupor and you jolt slightly, like when you’re half dreaming and you suddenly trip and your brain thinks you’re dying. You vaguely remember Rose telling you about that once. The clack comes again, this time on your window, you notice.

You narrow your eyes and rub one, a little irked to have been awoken when you were finally getting to sleep. The noise comes again. What the fuck? You’re a little discombobulated, and you groan out a questionable sound that mildly expresses your state of perplexity. But then the possibility of it being a serial killer or something slithers its way into your mind and you are somewhat tempted to hide under your covers as you wait for them to come kill you. But no, you won’t have that. It’s very unlikely that it’s something menacing; it’s probably just a tree branch hitting your window. That sounded plausible and a lot less life-threatening.

Either way, as you creep to one side of your window, heartbeat audible in the silence of your room, you opt to peak outside stealthily. You are not expecting the dumbass blond friend of yours that stands outside. Your eyes widen. You realize that yes, Dave is very drunk. He wobbles and attempts to maintain balance as he bends down to pick up more pebbles in your front yard, a backpack strapped to his back. You can’t help the snicker that makes it way out before remembering that, wait, he shouldn't be here, what the hell is he doing here.

With that, you step in front of the window and lift the bottom part. God, this is just like those romances you've watched on TV and read in books. Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou – a pebble hits your forehead and, no, it’s not really anymore. You clench your eyes and instinctively move your face backwards a couple centimeters despite the uselessness of the motion.

You then lean out and angrily whisper, “Dave!! What the fuck? You hit me in the face!”

Dave’s eyebrows furrow above his glasses, as if processing your words, and a few seconds later he answers, albeit unable to contain some laughter, “Oh, sorry!” Except the dumb fuck is almost shouting and you have to lift a finger to shush him. He repeats his words in a more silent tone.

“What are you doing here, Dave? How did you even manage to get here?” You scold.

“I–told you I was coming over, Ebgert,” His words slur and he's barely looking in the right direction towards your window. Yes, definitely intoxicated. Your left eyebrow cannot cease its ascent up the forehead of your unamused face. You'd been afraid maybe he had just been faking but this seemed to be quite telling. He'd presumably taken a taxi. You hope he took a taxi. “’Sides, and I told to be prepare,” He continues, not quite pronouncing the words right.

“Be prepare?”

“Shut up, John, let me in.”

“No, Dave, go home. I can’t have you infecting me with your drunken stupid. Your Bro is probably wondering where you are.”

“He’s out, he doesn’t know I ain’t home.” You feel your mouth twitch up at the brief appearance of his Texan twang.

You sigh. “Dave…just go home.”

“No, Egbert, let me in. I got bored at home. I'm already here.” You roll your eyes.

“You should've thought about all this before you came over, dude."

"Listen," he starts, "are you telling me that you are willing to abandon your drunk friend who came out all this way for you–" He pauses at the incredulous expression on your face, opting instead to jut out his lower lip in a pout and draw his eyebrows together in a puppy face. His shades kind of ruin the effect, though.

You sigh heavily and rub the bridge of your nose. You mutter out a “fine” and then say more clearly, “I hate you, you better be grateful, you... you.” He smirks and starts to somewhat saunter towards the front door, tripping over himself a few times. You wonder why you are even doing this.

"John? Who's there?" A tired voice and a knock on your door come. You freeze in place a couple of seconds before you can think of anything.

"Uh- uh, no one, I’m on the phone."

You can hear your dad sigh a little from the other side of your door, "Rude of someone to call at a time like this, no?" Footsteps follow, fading as they get further from your door.

You let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding and nod, "Yeah, super rude." You close your window and wait a few moments, listening for silence and the affirmation that your dad has gone back to sleep ere stealing down to the living room. You unlatch the lock of the front door and cringe when it groans a little, but after a few seconds of waiting and not hearing any movement come from your dad’s room, you proceed.

Once Dave is in and the door is safely locked behind him, you turn to him and shift your weight onto one leg, jutting out your hip and crossing your arms over your chest. "What are you even thinking, drinking at a time like this, young man?"

Dave grins and opens his mouth to undoubtedly say stupid shit, which you prevent by covering his face with your hand before shaking your head and pointing to the stairs.

The pair of you tip-toe up the carpet-clad stairs into your room, you occasionally supporting Dave because his balance is a little unstable. You secure the door shut behind you. Your room was somewhat a ways from your dad’s. Even though your dad wasn’t all that far away, the walls were thick enough to not be heard if you talked low enough.

You’re the first to start talking, with a nosey, “Dave, how come you were even drinking? You been drankin', you been drankin'.” Your last phrase is accompanied by some weird, hopefully beyoncé-esque shoulder-rolling movement that you're sure is embarrassing but oh well, he's drunk and you're tired so you're sure it'll be forgotten by morning.

Ignoring that embarrassing moment, Dave takes off his backpack and unzips it, pulling out a bottle of vodka and wearing a shit-eating grin. "We're gonna be drinking, Egbert." Your mouth drops.

"Are you trying to corrupt me, Dave?" Dave abandons his backpack somewhere in your room and shoves the bottle towards you. Without knowing what to do, you helplessly take it, reading the brand of the bottle before looking back up to Dave.

"Well?" He inquires. His arms are crossed over his chest and he's silently tapping his foot against the floor. All you can do is stare at him, a little lost. He sighs, "Look, it's Friday. You're here at home, you've undoubtedly spent the night nerding out on your computer and you have nothing better to do. Try some and live a little?"

"D-Dave, I've never even had alcohol before. Besides, haven't you been drinking enough? If you get sick I'm going to have to beat you up."

Dave snorts at that, arms uncrossing to take the bottle from you. "Yeah, right. I doubt you could accomplish that even if you are sober. I'm fine, John." To prove this, he opens the bottle and takes a swig of vodka, choking a little in the midst of his action and entering a coughing fit.

"Dude, don't get vodka on the carpet! That'll stink from a mile away." You quickly step to his side and give his back a few firm pats, taking the bottle from him as his coughing fit calms.

"See? Totally fine," He half chokes out, tears springing from his eyes.

You roll your eyes. "I feel so much better, thanks," you mock.

Dave wipes his tears away and gives you a half-hearted push. "Just one sip? I came out all this way just for you to wuss out on me?"

You sigh and look up to the ceiling, wondering where the gods that have abandoned you fled off. You don't even want to begin to address all the undertones of his sentence, so you decide point out only one: "Fine. But I'll have you know this is peer pressure."

You reluctantly hold the bottle and bring it to your lips, hearing Dave's remark just before you tip it back: "I don't even know what that means?" You give a laugh before pouring the hot liquid into your mouth and promptly moving the bottle away as you try not to spit out the alcohol. You look at Dave wide-eyed, who's watching you right back. The alcohol tastes bitter on your tongue, and it makes you want to retch. You squeeze your eyes as you force yourself to swallow, the liquid leaving a scorching trail down your throat.

Dave takes the bottle from you to take another sip while you're left to cough and scrunch your face at the sharp aftertaste left on your tongue. "Agh! That's terrible! Why would anybody want to drink that?" You reason.

The blond swallows before answering, "To get drunk? Duh."

"You're already drunk. Haven't you had enough?"

"Maybe. But you're not, yet, and we gotta fix that."

"See, I told y– wait, what?!"

"Open up, Johnny boy," Tipping your head back by the forehead, Dave holds the bottle over your mouth.

You grip his wrist, "Um, Dave, I don't think that's a good idea –"

"Shh, only alcohol now." He holds your jaw open and you kind of just comply because what good would being stubborn and choking do you? And then you die and your father comes in and finds out you died because of alcohol. And then he disowns you even though you're dead, because he's disappointed and you feel his chagrin beyond the grave.

Dave fills your mouth with vodka and you do your best to swallow or at least keep what you can't down from spilling to the floor. Everything burns from your throat to your nostrils and you're certain your breath smells foul. You crinkle your nose in discontent and glare at Dave so he knows this isn't exactly ideal.

"Lighten up, dude!" Dave takes a couple more drinks from the bottle and throws himself onto your bed.

"Okay, let me get this straight. So you came over, already highly inebriated, to intoxicate yourself further. And what's more, with me? Drink. That's all you're here to do?"

Dave's eyes slide from your face to the trees outside the window, as if something else is on his mind, before looking right back at you and taking another drink from the bottle. As he swallows, he nods. "Pretty much, yep."

You groan, letting your head tilt back. You close your eyes a few moments before deciding yourself. Dave watches you curiously. "Don't finish with all the vodka, at least," You finally say, moving towards him and lying down on your bed next to him since he’s obviously not going to leave. He passes you the bottle and this time, you're a little more used to the bitter taste of the liquid and you focus on the warmth it leaves in your body.

After half an hour of drinking here and there, idle conversation and passing the bottle between the two of you, your head spins when you finally sit upright from your spot beside Dave. "Dude...I'm dizzy," you say, but your sentence ends with a laugh. Dave sits himself up beside you and you swear there are two of him.

"Dude...you know what'd make you feel better?" You turn in Dave's direction and barely listen as your eyes focus and unfocus on the blond. You make some sort of grunting sound. "If you walk it off, you'll feel better, John."

"Ok."

"So like, we should definitely go for a walk," He hiccups.

Never has there been a more genius idea. "Bro..." You lightly punch his shoulder and get up, Dave following suit. You turn back to him and put an index finger up to your lips, "Shhhh...we have to be...really quiet."

"You just spit in my face."

"Shut up," you whisper, and you open the door as slowly as you can. The two of you make your way out and you're both surprisingly quieter than you thought you had the capacity to be.

Your teeth are chattering once you're both outside. You guys forgot coats. When you make this thought known, Dave just tells you the alcohol will keep you warm. "Now which way, cap'n?"

"Starport!" You half yell, and Dave covers your mouth, reminding you to be quiet.

"By the way, it's either starboard or port, I think." He corrects. You roll your eyes and lick the hand covering your mouth. The small shriek he gives is worth it.

The two of you set off walking. The direction or time doesn't quite seem to be of any concern as you exchange unintelligible banter in the stillness of the neighborhood.

As you approach a playground, neither of you can help but run over to the swings. Dave gives you a shove as he stumbles his way to the swing, and you shove him back, the both of you barely managing to keep balance as your laughter sounds into the night. You grab a swing and take the vodka from Dave as he draws near, drinking some before passing it back to him and sitting on the seat. You promptly start swinging back and forth. Dave sits on the swing beside you, drinking from the bottle that is, regrettably, already ending.

After a few minutes of silence, Dave starts, "Hey, John."

"What?" You ask, lifting your legs higher to go faster.

"How are things going with uh, Veronica? Was that her name?"

Your eyebrows furrow. "It's Vriska, dude, you've met her." You plant your feet into the dirt under you, stopping your movement rather abruptly and making your stomach flip. You answer after a small burp, "We're doing pretty well, actually. We've been together like what, four months now? She's really cool!”

Dave stares at you long and hard and then chugs what's left of the vodka bottle.

"Aw, dude, come on, seriously?!" You pout. He gets up and shoves the bottle into your chest.

"I think maybe it's time we start heading back. Your dad won't be happy if you wake up with hypothermia." You're sort of confused and not really sure where that came from, and you don’t really want to leave so soon, but you agree anyway.

Dave walks ahead of you back to your house and suddenly the air feels much colder. When you're back safe inside your room, Dave sits at your desk chair.

You step towards him. "Are you okay, dude?" Dave takes his head out of his hands and his eyes widen as if they're seeing you for the first time. His cheeks are painted pink and he has bags under his eyes and something in your chest tightens. The light from the streetlamp outside shines on his light hair. It glows like a halo though you know he's anything but a saint.

Dave finally blinks out of his daze when you take another step forward. "Yeah, 'M fine. M'ybe we should get some sleep, yeah?"

Your hand moves to his head, intertwining with the soft hair there, the division between "think" and "do" seemingly gone.

Dave pauses and narrows his eyes at you as if gears in his head slowly turning, trying to figure you out. You move your hand off him. You're not really sure what you’re doing. Dave gets up and brushes past you towards your bed. He tucks himself under the covers. "Well? Aren't you coming?"

You nod and slide under the covers of your bed as well, now warmed by Dave. Unsure of what to say, you turn your back to him and mutter a "good night". There's some shuffling on Dave's end as he adjusts himself and gets comfortable. Your mind stays on the physical warmth at your back, and as tense and unsure as you were feeling with Dave's behavior, his warmth helps you melt into the bed. Sure, it's a little tight because it's a small bed, but it's cozy anyway.

Dave's breathing is quiet and you can hear the crickets again. As you begin to slip into slumber for the second time that night, a quiet "John?" comes from Dave's side. Half-asleep, you utter some sort of inarticulate sound to indicate you're listening, even though your mind slips right back into that dreamy limbo stage.

"...There was actually a reason I came over here..." His words sound tired and slurred. You can’t really pinpoint it but he sounds almost...shy. His words are quiet in your ear and you’re barely processing them.

When you don't answer he takes it as affirmation to continue, "I came over at first because there was s'methin' I needed to tell you..." He gives a huff, as if he's laughing, "but I needed to be so drunk so I could tell you in the first place...shit 'm so fuckin' stupid."

Dave shifts a little to lie on his back and look at the ceiling, and suddenly the warmth is gone. You furrow your brows and scoot back a little, chasing that warmth. There's a quiet intake of breath, and Dave returns to his soliloquy, or whatever the hell it was, speaking faster now. "You and Vriska... I just..." He takes in another breath, "'Night," He expeditiously turns toward the wall, away from you. Cold air enters the bed sheets from where they've stretched between you and Dave. You shiver.

Much later, Dave spins around towards you and shifts closer. Dave murmurs something you can’t hear, but the warmth is back at your back and you sleep a little better now.


End file.
